


We Should Just Kiss (Like Real People Do)

by werewolvesandarrows (nerdy_farm_girl)



Series: Tumblr Fic [13]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Background Erica/Boyd, Background Jackson/Lydia - Freeform, Bisexual Derek Hale, Derek Hale & Lydia Martin Friendship, FSA Week, Jock Derek, M/M, Secret Nerd Derek, Stiles Is Kind Of A Dick, Tattoos, Underage Drinking, Underage Smoking, background Allison/Isaac, past relationships mentioned (scira scallison stalia derek x danny), underage tattoos
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-07
Updated: 2015-10-07
Packaged: 2018-04-25 07:56:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,533
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4952518
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nerdy_farm_girl/pseuds/werewolvesandarrows
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Derek notices things.<br/>He notices the way Boyd tries not to stare at Erica Reyes when she walks past their lunch table. He notices the way Jackson's eyes go soft when he talks about Lydia Martin, and the way Danny watches their math teacher with hearts in his eyes. He knows that Coach Finstock is secretly dating the librarian, and that Allison Argent isn't the same brand of crazy as her hot aunt. But he spends most of his time noticing the things he doesn't want to notice at all.<br/>As the captain of the Lacrosse team and Homecoming King, he feels like he's earned his letterman jacket and his swagger, has worked for the right to walk down the hall with a smirk on his face and a girl on his elbow. Laura says he looks like a moron, but Derek's pretty sure there's a gaggle of girls at school that would say otherwise. But instead of getting himself a date, he's <i>noticing</i> things.</p>
            </blockquote>





	We Should Just Kiss (Like Real People Do)

**Author's Note:**

> not betaed, all mistakes are my own  
> if you think I missed any tags, please let me know!  
> Title from Like Real People Do by Hozier

Derek notices things.

He notices the way Boyd tries not to stare at Erica Reyes when she walks past their lunch table. He notices the way Jackson's eyes go soft when he talks about Lydia Martin, and the way Danny watches their math teacher with hearts in his eyes. He knows that Coach Finstock is secretly dating the librarian, and that Allison Argent isn't the same brand of crazy as her hot aunt. But he spends most of his time noticing the things he doesn't want to notice at all.

As the captain of the Lacrosse team and Homecoming King, he feels like he's earned his letterman jacket and his swagger, has worked for the right to walk down the hall with a smirk on his face and a girl on his elbow. Laura says he looks like a moron, but Derek's pretty sure there's a gaggle of girls at school that would say otherwise. But instead of getting himself a date, he's _noticing_ things.

He _noticed_ Scott McCall during lacrosse try outs sophomore year. They've always been in school together, but suddenly Scott's got broad shoulders and abs and when his hair is slicked back with sweat he looks like a man instead of a boy. He couldn’t help but notice Stiles Stilinski at the same time, he would be impossible to ignore. Scott and Stiles have been attached at the hip for as long as Derek can remember, and he's always been jealous of their easy friendship. They're always touching, even in the locker room, Stiles’ pale, mole dotted skin stark against Scott's golden tan. Stiles hadn't grown into his limbs yet, but his eyes still reminded Derek of warm maple syrup and his lips had the most perfect bow. Derek can't decide what he wants more, to get his fingers in Scott's hair or to taste Stiles' mouth.

He notices the way Stiles fills out, long arms suddenly corded with muscle, t-shirt stretched tight across broad shoulders. Stiles grows his hair out and puts too much gel in it, always musing it like a bird's nest or like he’s just had sex behind the bleachers. He notices how Scott seems to get better looking every day, coming back to school junior year with hair shaved short on the sides and long on the top, a tattoo peeking out from beneath the sleeve of his shirt. He notices when Scott falls for Allison, then Kira, notices when Stiles stops mooning over Lydia and starts sneaking off during lunch with his cousin Malia. He wonders if they even notice him at all.

For all that he can be a cocky asshole, Derek's always been a good boy. He excels at everything he does, keeps his grades up and is never late for curfew. Cora calls him a suck up, and Boyd smirks at him in that way he has whenever he leaves parties early, but Derek doesn't care. But sometimes he'll see Scott and Stiles, laying on the roof of the jeep surrounded by a cloud of smoke, or flying down back roads on Scott's bike, and he gets wistful about it. If Stiles or Scott asked him to break the rules with them, he would.

Everyone seems to think Stiles is the mastermind behind all the pranks they pull, all blustering dramatics and sarcasm, but Derek sees the calculating look Scott gets in his eye, the tilt to his head when he's really studying something. He's positive that Scott was the one who brought in the piglets during homecoming week, setting them free in the halls numbered with 1, 2 and 4. The smug look on Scott's face was the hottest thing Derek had ever seen, his deep brown eyes sparkling and his bottom lip pulled between his teeth. He was so enraptured that Lydia had to snap her fingers in front of his face to get his attention back. She hasn't looked at him quite the same since.

It's not that Derek is worried about coming out. He’s lucky enough to have a wonderful and understanding mom, and she never questioned him when he told her he had a crush on Isaac Lahey in third grade. There had been some teasing when he went with Danny to Winter Ball in sophomore year, but that had been it. He hasn't dated any boys since, not when there's girls falling over themselves just for a chance to sit next to him at lunch. (Lydia always rolls her eyes and informs whatever _lucky_ girl that manages to squeeze in between him and Boyd that she should have higher aspirations than sitting beside Derek. By the end of the lunch period the girl has been fully educated on exactly _how_ she could be doing better, and Derek's been too busy looking at Stiles and Scott's table and half listening to Boyd, Jackson and Danny discuss the latest NFL drama to pay attention).

He notices when something changes with Scott and Stiles. It's subtle at first, the way their fingers seem to linger whenever they touch, and their smiles seem softer, like they're sharing a secret. They both slip into English late with hickeys blooming dark on their necks, hair tousled and lips kiss swollen. Derek spends the next few weeks deeply confused, unsure if he wants Scott or Stiles, unable to figure out which one he's jealous of.

And then he notices them noticing him.

It's lunch time, and Boyd managed to coax Erica into sitting at their table, taking up the seat usually occupied by whatever girl is trying to get his attention that day. Derek's honestly pleased, he _likes_ Erica, and while he's sure the other girls are perfectly wonderful people, they don't really want him for _him_ anyways. Lydia's sitting across from him, pointedly ignoring Jackson's hand on her thigh as she flips through her physics book. Derek sneaks a glance over at Scott and Stiles' usual table, only to find them already looking at him, unable to avoid a second of _charged_ eye contact with Scott. He turns quickly away, ears and cheeks flushing hot with embarrassment at being caught.

Lydia’s watching him when he glances up at her, gaze calculating but lips quirked just slightly. He hadn’t _tried_ to be friends with her, it just _happened_. Or maybe he was too caught up in Scott and Stiles to notice that he had made a new friend. Lydia’s the smartest student in their class, probably the smartest student ever to walk the halls at BHHS. She does a good job of hiding it though, and Derek hadn’t really figured it out until they were paired up in Chemistry last fall (honestly, the fact that it was Derek’s first AP class and the _only_ class he’d ever shared with her probably should have been his first clue. But Stiles and Scott were in that class too, and needless to say he had been a little bit distracted). Once Lydia came to the conclusion that he didn’t totally live up to the dumb jock stereotype, she suddenly starting making an effort. She’d talk to him at lunch instead of ignoring everyone haughtily, she invited him over to her house to study before exams (he’s still not quite over the shock of seeing her for the first time with her hair in a ponytail and sweatpants) and he spent almost as much time hanging out at her pool than he did with his sisters or Boyd and Isaac over the summer. She’s one of his best friends now, and even Jackson seems to have accepted it, once he seemed to understand the Derek wasn’t trying to get into Lydia’s pants. It’s pretty awesome, to have Lydia Martin on his side.

Of course, there’s a catch. And the catch is that Lydia can read him like a book. So when she glances over his shoulder and smirks, his stomach hardens with dread. She snaps her physics book closed and slides it into her bag, grinning _evilly_ at Derek as she stands up.

“Derek, be a dear and help me carry my bag to the library for me?” She asks before he can come up with some kind of excuse. It’s a dirty play, a refusal would only leave him looking like a douche and earn a possible punch from Jackson.

“Oh I’d love too,” he snarls, climbing off the bench and swinging his own backpack over his shoulder before picking up her bag. Lydia simpers at him before spinning around, heels clacking loudly on the tile floor as she struts towards what is definitely not the door that would bring them towards the library. No. Of course not. She’s bee lining straight for Scott and Stiles’ table, her entire persona just radiating an annoying smugness. Derek follows her anyways, because it’s less embarrassing to be seen carrying Lydia Martin’s bags in her presence than it is without. And also… it’s an excuse to look at Scott and Stiles.

Lydia comes to a stop behind Allison Argent, her little hands resting on her shoulders, red hair fluttering down and half covering a perturbed looking Isaac’s face. Isaac turns in his seat, brushing his nose furiously before offering a hand to Derek to shake.

“Hey man, how’s it goin’?” Derek grips his hand in return, offering a noncommittal shrug, eyes drawn to the other side of the table, where Scott and Stiles are. Stiles is smirking, and not in a nice way, eyes glinting and the barbell in his brow sparkling.

“Since when have you and Lydia been tight?” He asks like it's an accusation, words sharp and stinging. Derek fights back the urge to bristle up, to defend himself, to defend Lydia. Instead he tilts his head back and smirks, feeling victorious when Stiles swallows hard.

“What’s it matter to you?” He shoots back, forcing his voice into a soft drawl. He can see Lydia watching him in the corner of his vision, looking completely unimpressed as she pretends to whisper in Allison’s ear. Scott’s smiling softly at him, everything about him calling to Derek, the gentleness of his eyes, his plush lips, his crooked jaw. But beside him Stiles seems to be all sharp edges and sharper words, the mean curl to his lips returning in full force.

“I just didn’t think you hung out with girls unless you were gettin’ your dick sucked,” Stiles scoffs, seeming pleased with himself. Derek wants to point out all the things wrong with that accusation, but he’s pretty sure the glare Lydia’s burning into the side of Stiles’ face is more than enough. So he just grins, slow and easy and says,

“I’m usually the one doing the sucking,” before turning and _swaggering_ towards the door. He can hear Stiles sputtering behind him, the musical tinkle of Scott and Allison’s laughter, the tap-tap of Lydia’s heels as she follows.

“That wasn’t really what I had in mind,” she says once they reach the cool quiet of the hallway, her shoulder nudging against his arm. “Of course, you managed to pull it off anyways.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Derek huffs, hiking his backpack higher in his shoulder. He can feel her judgmental look against the side of his face, but he ignores it, walking maybe a little bit too fast towards the library. Lydia waits until he drops into his usual chair at the table they always study at to continue. She leans against the table in front of him, knees nudging against his and arms crossing menacingly.

“You know exactly what I mean Hale.” Her green eyes narrow, focusing intently on his own. “I’m sick and tired of watching you moon over Stilinski and McCall. It’s about time you did something about it.” If this were any other person Derek could probably just glare them into leaving him alone, but it’s _Lydia_ , and she has told him before that it’s _cute_ when he narrows his eyes like that. She’s the _worst,_ honestly.

“I’m not going to be a home wrecker.” He grumbles instead, staring at the pale skin of her knees pressed against the dark blue of his jeans. Lydia always smells like honeysuckle, just faintly, and Derek hadn’t realized until now that the scent soothes him. Her entire presence soothes him, as much as he hates to admit it.

“Oh, so tell me which one you want?” She asks the question like she already knows the answer, already knows that Derek has absolutely no idea which one he wants. He thinks about Scott, all soft smiles and curved edges, tan skin and deep eyes and fingers he wants to see intertwined with his own. But then there’s Stiles, biting and sharp, but incredibly smart and funny with lips he wants to kiss and hair he want to pull. It’s not one or the other for him, it’s _both_ , and he feels greedy for it. “You could try just being friends with them you know.” Lydia offers, her voice gentler now to match the fingers pulling at his chin. “You’d probably be more successful with that than the creepy staring you’ve been doing for the past two years.” She’s smirking when he finally meets her eyes. Up this close he can see the smudge in her carefully applied brown eye liner, the cracks in her bright pink lipstick. It’s comforting almost, to see that she’s just as human as him, not quite perfect.

“I think you’re my best friend,” he admits, right to her face. Her smirk softens into a genuine smile, dark green eyes brimming with emotion.

“I know,” she whispers, brushing her fingers gently through his hair. When he hugs her, she doesn’t push him away.

 

* * *

 

The next day when Derek walks into the cafeteria Lydia’s sitting primly beside Allison, Jackson scowling at her from their usual table. Derek flounders for a moment, unsure of where exactly he’s supposed to be going. His self-preservation instincts are telling him to go to his usual spot, to sit at the jock table where he belongs. But he watches with mild horror as Boyd and Erica sit down across from Lydia, both of them engaging in conversation immediately with Isaac. He forgets sometimes that they’re all kind of friends anyways. He and Boyd and Isaac have been bros since they were kids, not super close but close enough to hang out at the lake together and partner up in classes. Isaac’s been kind of dating Allison for the last couple months, and even though Derek’s been a little caught up in the whole Stiles and Scott thing, he’s still noticed that Boyd’s been trying to work the double not-date angle. (Even though he’s pretty sure that Erica and Allison have some kind of weird feud thing going on but maybe they can get over it). Regardless, as much as he likes Danny, Derek’s not about to subject himself to Jackson’s bitching for a full half an hour.

So straightens his shoulders and tries to project confidence as he heads for the other table, both hating and loving Lydia for saving him a seat beside her, and directly across from Scott. Their knees knock under the table when Derek swings his legs over the bench, and Scott smiles at him, slow and warm. Stiles isn’t sitting down yet, and Derek is grateful, especially when Lydia greets him with a kiss to the cheek, leaving a smudge of peach colored lipstick.

“How do you think you did on The Great Gatsby essay?” Scott asks easily. Derek wants to lick the strawberry jelly clinging to his bottom lip.

“I don’t know,” he shrugs, pulling his own lunch out of his backpack. Scott’s watching him like he’s waiting for more detail, for a _story_ or something, and it’s unnerving to say the least. But he wants Scott to like him, so he forces himself to continue. “I don’t really like timed essays, you know.” He shrugs, nerves jangling as Stiles slides into the seat between Scott and Boyd, eyes already narrowed. “I do better when I can take my time with writing.” Lydia presses her thigh against his beneath the table, and he knows it’s intentional, knows that everyone at the table can feel the hostility Stiles is radiating.

“What made you decide to abandon your throne and sit with the lowly peasants today Hale?” Stiles sneers, eyes hard and angry. Derek’s chest feels too tight, his heart squeezing too hard and too fast, hands clenching instinctively into fists. There’s no good way to answer that question and Stiles knows it, framed it that way on purpose.

“I invited him,” Allison pipes up, her smile bright and honest. “Lydia mentioned that they were sick of listening to Jackson complain about the Patriots playing in the Super Bowl again and I said that if they didn’t mind listening to you bitch about _everything_ they could come sit with us.” Stiles seems to visibly shrink, his shoulders sinking and his expression loosening slightly. Scott grins widely, a soft chuckle bubbling from his lips as he curls his fingers around the back of Stiles’ neck.

“You are a whiner,” he teases, laughing even more when Stiles huffs like a child. Derek hates it, hates the way he wants to back Stiles up against a wall, wants to scream in his face about how he’s a hypocritical asshole, how he talks shit about everyone else being mean when he’s certainly more than capable of being nasty. He wants Stiles to fight back, to push at his chest until the yelling turns to desperate kisses and fingers pressing bruises to ribs and hips. He wants to watch Scott kiss Stiles, soft and tender or rough and needy, wants to hear the noises Scott makes when Stiles pulls his lip between his teeth. He’s confused and horny and he just _wants_. “Anyways,” Scott continues, taking another bite of his sandwich. “I agree about the timed essays man, they suck balls. But this one wasn’t too bad, I mean, we talked about it a lot in class.”

“Yeah,” Derek agrees, looking away from Scott’s intense gaze and down at his unopened bag of Doritos. “Gardiner’s an easy grader anyways, me and Lydia had him last year too. He tends to only do quizzes on stuff he talks about.” When he looks up again Stiles eyes are focused on him, calculating almost.

“Gardiner only teaches the honors and AP English classes.” He states, but it sounds like he wants to argue about it. Derek’s grateful when Lydia turns from her conversation with Allison to level Stiles with one of her signature _looks_.

“You’re correct.” She says, voice infused with acid and a challenge. It’s almost comical, watching Stiles’ mouth open and close like a goldfish, floundering for traction. “Derek and I were in his honors English section last spring.”

“How many honors classes have you taken?” Stiles finally addresses Derek in a mildly pleasant manner, his curiosity obviously greater than his harbored animosity. Derek shrugs, ready to brush it off, but Lydia jumps in before he can.

“Well, we had AP Chem last fall right, and then Honors English in the spring with Pre-Calc, which basically counts.” She pauses, tapping a manicured nail against her chin. “You’re also in Spanish 5 right now, which is a level ahead of average, not to mention you took creative writing for _fun_. And right now we’re in AP English and AP Physics, and you’re in AP US History with me in the spring too right?”

"Yeah," Derek agrees gruffly, shoving a handful of chips into his mouth as an excuse not to say anything else. He can feel Stiles' eyes on him, like he's taking him apart and examining each piece.

"That's awesome," Scott says into the silence, his knee bumping against Derek’s under the table. "I didn't know you were that smart man."

"Well I'm not," he murmurs with a shrug. "I'm just trying to get into a good college." Scott has this look on his face like he wants to keep talking about this, like he's going to ask where Derek has applied and what he wants to study. He's immensely grateful when Erica leans around Boyd and pokes sharply at Stiles' shoulder, grinning when he flinches and squawks.

"Heard you got a tat Stilinski," she drawls, eyebrows waggling. "All the girls in my gym class were gossiping about it." Stiles grins and yanks his t- shirt all the way up to his neck without any urging.

There's a sunflower inked over his heart in blacks a grays, the lines delicate and soft. Derek can't pull his eyes away, wants to trace the art with his fingers and maybe his tongue, wants to see if he can taste the ink.

"It's a Brown Eyed Susan," Stiles explains cheerily, letting his shirt fall from his fingers. "My dad used to pick them for my mom, they grow out in a patch on the south side of the preserve. He'd always come into the kitchen, humming Brown Eyed Girl under his breath..." He trails off, smile wavering slightly as he rubs perhaps unconsciously at the tattoo on his chest.

"It's beautiful," Derek says honestly, wanting to offer comfort but unable to do so, not when Scott is already wrapping his arm around Stiles' shoulders and pressing soft kisses into his hair. Stiles is quiet for a moment, studying Derek, but his expression isn't unkind.

"Thank you," he says finally, lips quirking in the corners. "You got any ink Hale?"

 

Six hours and two shots of cheap vodka later, Derek Hale is laying on his stomach, shirtless, while the largest man he’s ever seen cleans the skin between his shoulder blades with cold anesthetic wipes. His phone is clenched in his right hand, inches from his face, shaking only slightly as he types out a text to Lydia.

**Me: why did you let me do this**

It takes a few seconds for her to respond, but he can see the little thought bubble, and he glares at it, if only for a distraction.

**LM: it wouldn’t matter what I said. you would do anything he asked**

**Me: what are you talking about? scott wasn’t the one who goaded me into this**

**LM: oh, so you’ve decided on Scott then?**

Derek scowls at the screen because he knows exactly what she’s getting at. It’s only more apparent when he lifts his head up slightly to find Scott smiling at him encouragingly and Stiles grinning proudly, but almost like he thinks Derek’s going to chicken out. This whole thing is Stiles’ fault, really. It’s like Derek needs to impress him, needs to prove that he’s just as chill and badass as they are. Why Lydia didn’t step in and stop him from agreeing to go to some seedy back alley tattoo parlor that doesn’t check IDs, he doesn’t know, but he really wants to blame anything that goes wrong on her. But she had nothing to do with him climbing into the back seat of Stiles’ jeep, nothing to do with him taking a hit from the joint Scott had hanging from his lips, and definitely nothing to do with the swigs of vodka he’d taken after Stiles had insisted it would calm his nerves.

“Now you’re sure about this, right kid?” The tattoo artist asks, Derek thinks his name is Tony, as he starts to trace the design onto his back. He hesitates because really, no one is _forcing_ him to do this. He could back out now, could save himself the pain, the potential embarrassment, the inevitable punishment when his mom finds out. But Scott is looking at him all hopeful, and Stiles has this gleeful smirk on his face like he’s kind of hoping Derek will back out, and he’s always wanted to get the spirals from his family’s crest as a tattoo anyways so…

“Yes sir,” he responds quickly, glancing back down at his phone when it beeps with a text message.

**LM: i’m sure scott will hold your hand babe. maybe you can even convince Stiles to hold the other one. maybe they’ll make out while they’re doing it**

**Me: i hate you**

 

(He totally gets Scott to hold his hand though, without even asking. Stiles acts like he’s too cool, but after half an hour he dragged his stool closer to Derek and pretended like he wasn’t petting his hair. Derek counts it as a win.)

* * *

 

He’s the last person in the locker room Monday afternoon, having spent forty five minutes trying to get Coach Finstock to let him design some plays. The annoying part was that Finstock was _fine_ with the plays, he just wasn’t happy with the names. He wanted to call them things like Cupcake Slingshot and The Banana Hammock. Derek thought he should just give each play a different color and be done with it. There’s no arguing with crazy though, and Derek can just picture the expressions on his teammate’s faces tomorrow at practice when he tries to explain The Rainbow Flyer to them.

He’s just wrapping a towel around his waist after stepping out of the shower (it’s so much easier to shower at school, less chance of his mom catching him and seeing the tat) when he hears the locker room door swing open and familiar voices.

“Derek!” Scott calls for him, the sound settling warm and happy beneath his ribs.

“What the hell is taking you so…” Stiles trails off when Derek rounds the corner of the lockers, eyes trailing obviously down Derek’s damp chest.

“My eyes are up here,” Derek teases, unable to stop himself from grinning when Stiles snaps his head up, cheeks flushing prettily. Scott laughs, then reaches out to Derek, fingers calloused on his arm.

“Can’t really blame him dude,” he says easily, pushing at Derek until he turns. “Lemme see your ink though, I’ve been thinking about it all weekend.” The idea of Scott thinking about him at all sends butterflies fluttering in his stomach and makes his cheeks feel hot. He’s all too happy to turn his face away from the two of them, if only to hide his reaction. It’s worse though, feeling their eyes on his bare back, on the towel wrapped maybe too low around his hips, too snug around his ass.

“Damn, that came out good,” Stiles says, and then he’s touching him too, long fingers cool and gentle as they traces along the thick spirals inked into his skin. It takes all Derek’s self-control not to arch into the touch, especially when Scott’s warmer fingers join in, almost dancing across his skin.

“It’s kinda hard to put the lotion on it,” he admits, just to say _something_. “Lydia had to put it on for me the last couple of days.”

“I swear to god, you’re the only dude who acts like Lydia Martin voluntarily rubbing lotion on you is a _bad_ thing,” Stiles laughs, the sound bright and genuine, so different from the mean laughter Derek often associates with him. Derek turns around and rolls his eyes, stepping out of their reach and towards his open locker.

“I’m not interested in her like that,” he shrugs, dropping his towel casually before pulling on a pair of boxer briefs. There’s a muffled choking sound followed by the soft smack of a hand on flesh, but when he glances over his shoulder, Scott and Stiles are standing there innocently, although their faces are suspiciously flushed. “I’m not really sure how it happened, but she’s my best friend.” Stiles and Scott nod eagerly, eerily in sync with each other, both of them biting their bottom lips, _hard_. It’s distracting, because Derek wants to do that, wants to bite them both, their lips and their jaws, their necks. Wants to draw blood to the surface without breaking the skin. Wants to hear his name pulled from their lips.

He hastily grabs a pair of sweatpants from his locker, cursing his imagination and his dick because now is _not_ the time to be getting excited. But Stiles and Scott are still standing there, staring at him, shirtless with a pair of ratty navy blue sweatpants hanging from his hips. It should probably be awkward, but it’s not, and Derek’s the last person anyone should rely on to start a conversation. So he just continues with his routine, swiping on deodorant and pulling on his Property of Beacon Hills Athletic Department t-shirt that he cut the sleeves off of.

“So uh… what are you guys up to?” He asks when he turns to find them still watching him. It’s almost creepy, but Derek doesn’t really want to go down that road, because he knows he does a lot of staring that could be construed as creepy himself. And the last thing he ever wants is to prove Lydia right.

“We were gonna go hang out at the diner,” Scott says after another few seconds of cloying silence. “You uh, you want to come with?” Derek expects Stiles to be scowling at the floor, or at least looking like he would really rather Derek _not_ , but instead he looks almost hopeful, honey eyes wide and lips parted. Scott resembles an earnest puppy, if he had a tail it would probably be wagging in anticipation.

“Sorry,” Derek lies, turning back to his locker and digging out a sweatshirt. “I promised Lydia we could study tonight. We have a physics test on Friday.” He’s not sure why he does it, except that he _scared_. Scared of what’s happening, scared of what he’s feeling, scared that he could become friends with these two guys, these two guys who are _dating each other_ , and be totally head over heels for _both_ of them.

“You guys could study at the diner?” Scott offers, and he looks so _hopeful_ that Derek can’t find it in himself to shut him down. He finds himself smiling slightly as he slings his backpack over his shoulder and slams the locker door shut.

“Yeah maybe,” he slips his feet into his Jordan’s and starts for the door. “I’ll ask her. I might see you guys there then.” He catches the tail end of Stiles’ smile over his shoulder, and even as it’s fading, it’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.

 

He bursts into Lydia’s house unannounced twenty minutes later, thanking his lucky stars that Jackson’s douche baggy Porsche isn’t parked in the driveway. Not that he has much room to talk, driving a Camaro and everything, but _still_. Lydia’s curled up on the couch, still wearing the clothes she had on at school, which Derek only notices because he _knows_ that tips the scales in his direction just a tad. She can’t argue that she’s not fit to be seen in public or anything. She is however actually studying for their physics test that they actually do have on Friday, which Derek only feels slightly guilty about.

“We need to go pretend to study at the diner.” He pants, dropping to his knees in front of her. “Please.”

Lydia slowly lifts her eyes from her notes, managing to look completely disinterested and also fully unimpressed with his life choices.

“I don’t _need_ to do anything with you.” She replies calmly, even though her lips twitch slightly as she says it.

“ _Please_. Scott and Stiles invited me and I panicked and said I had to study with you and then they said we should both go and they were _touching_ me and then they were _staring_ at me and I don’t know what to do you need to help me I think I’m in love with both of them.”

“Wow.” Lydia smirks at him, eyes sparkling. “I think that’s a record for the number of words out of your mouth in under a minute.” But she closes her notebook anyway, leaning around Derek to put it into her bag on the floor. “The things I do for you honestly… but honey, you’re going to need a new outfit if we’re going to do this right.”

“Do what right?” He asks, the joy he was experiencing due to her easy agreement fading into uneasy apprehension. All he gets for an answer is a cat-like grin.

 

Turns out, the “what” includes Lydia glaring at him until he drives them to his house, Lydia forcing him into the tightest pair of jeans he owns, and Lydia digging through his dresser until she finds the “perfect” shirt for him to wear. It’s a black long sleeve that fit just right sophomore year that he doesn’t wear anymore. Mostly because the last time he wore it people were staring at him and it rides up every time he lifts his arms. The “what” also includes Lydia messing around with his hair and insisting on trying to tame his eyebrows and lots of clapping her hands together and grinning evilly.

“I’m not your Ken Doll you know,” he growls while herding her back out to his car and away from Laura (because of course she’s home right now) and Cora’s questioning looks. “This is a one-time thing.”

“Yeah okay sweetie,” Lydia agrees too easily, slipping into the passenger side of his car in a clear dismissal. He would probably argue more if he didn’t agree that he looked damn good.

 

Scott and Stiles are lounging in the back booth when they step into the dinner, half-finished milkshakes and a basket of fries on the table between them. Their jaws kind of drop when Derek and Lydia walk in, and Derek’s honestly kind of offended that they didn’t think he’d show up.

“Boys,” Lydia greets primly, staring pointedly at Stiles until he slides out of his side of the booth and drops down next to Scott. “I hope you two don’t plan on distracting Derek while we are trying to study.” She adds as she scoots into the booth, lips curling into that annoying smirk. Stiles’ cheeks immediately flush, and Scott kind of ducks his head, and Derek has absolutely no idea what to do with this information. “Derek sit down and stop overthinking.” Lydia snaps. This time it’s his turn to blush _and_ duck his head, dropping sheepishly down to sit beside her.

“You’re so bossy today,” he grumbles under his breath, shooting a snide smirk Lydia’s way only to have her elbow him in the ribs. He pulls out his physics notes because they are _supposed_ to be studying, but Stiles’ legs are tangling up with his under the table and Scott’s got his lips wrapped around the straw in his milkshake and it’s all just very distracting. This time the silence is actually awkward, because Derek should be studying and Stiles and Scott should be talking and Lydia should be snapping her gum or _something_ but there’s just _nothing_. He’s trying so hard not to watch Stiles lick ketchup off his fingers or Scott hand feed him fries and the air just feels thick and tense and overwhelming.

“I uh, my mom wants me to call her,” he lies, scrambling out of the booth and booking it towards the door before anyone else can get a word in. Stepping out into the fresh air seems to clear his head a bit, the winter breeze not objectively cold but cool for California. He wanders towards his car, leaning against the hood and tilting his head back to stare up at the stars. It’s almost as stressful being out here as it is in there, he can’t stop thinking about the conversation that could be happening at that little back booth right now. Lydia wouldn’t rat him out, she might be straight forward but she’s not cruel. That doesn’t mean that Stiles won’t be pissed off at him, confused and irritated with his erratic behavior. It doesn’t mean that Scott won’t be disappointed, won’t ask Lydia why Derek took off like that. 

He’s so lost in thought, cooking up various anxiety inducing scenarios, that he doesn’t even notice Scott until he’s leaning against the car beside him. Scott’s a warm line of heat pressed up against his side, even through the layers of clothes that separate them. There’s a part of Derek that wants to lean into Scott, wants to collapse against him. He holds it back though, slowly dropping his chin and turning his head until he can see Scott’s profile beside him. Neither of them speak for a moment, letting the silence give way to the whoosh of cars driving past and the soft rustling of the breeze in the trees.

“I’m sorry I’m being weird lately,” Derek says quietly, curling his hands into fists. He doesn’t generally talk about his feelings, not to his sisters, not to Boyd, not to Lydia. But Scott seems safe to him, warm and comforting and like it might be okay to bare his soul.

“It’s okay,” Scott replies gently, pressing his shoulder more firmly into Derek’s. He’s not pushing for more, but Derek wants to tell him, wants to get this heavy weight off his chest.

“I’m just… confused about what I even want.” He admits, staring determinedly down at his knees.

“You’re kind of emotional for a dumb jock.” Derek whips his head up to find Stiles standing in front of them, hands shoved in the pockets of his sweatshirt.

“Stiles.” Scott sighs, his fingers warm and gentle as they curl around Derek’s wrist. “Being a dick isn’t cute.”

“He has to know I’m kidding,” Stiles shoots back, surprising Derek by settling against his other side. “He’s got better grades than me, can’t exactly call him a dumb jock without calling myself one.”

“Seriously?” Scott sighs again, but Derek’s more focused on the pale hand resting innocently on his thigh, long fingers tapping against the inseam of his jeans. Stiles feels like danger to him, like a bed of hot coals, just waiting for him to attempt to run across barefoot. It’s like having the devil on one side and an angel on the other, and Derek just wants to listen to both. “Listen Derek.” Scott’s fingers squeeze tight around his wrist before slipping down and between his own, threading together like they belong. Derek’s heart starts to race, Stiles’ fingers flexing on his thigh not helping matters whatsoever. Once again he’s totally lost as to what exactly is happening here, but he definitely doesn’t want it to stop. “I want-” Scott pauses when Stiles clears his throat, and Derek can see him roll his whole _head_ before starting again. “ _We_ want to uh, well… we kind of have a crush on you?”

Derek feels his heart stop dead in his chest before leaping back to life, beating way too fast and way too hard. He doesn’t know where to look so he stares at his hands, but he can see Scott and Stiles’ too, how they’re touching him.

“I - you do?” His voice goes embarrassingly high at the end, his face flushing hot in the cool air. “Both of you?”

“Obviously.” Stiles scoffs, kicking at the ground.

“Stiles is only that rude to people he wants to bone,” Scott laughs, eyes widening with horror when Derek swings his head up to look at him. “Not that - I mean - not like… well…” He winces adorably, his right hand rubbing at the back of his neck.

“Great work Scott,” Stiles drawls, his hand now sliding up and down Derek’s thigh. “Bring up bangin’ uglies before the whole dating thing. Way to stick to the plan.”

“Who even says _bangin’ uglies_?” Scott hisses, hand slipping over his hair to cover his eyes. “And you screwed up the plan first, coming over her and _insulting_ him.” Derek feels more than sees Stiles take a deep breath, chest puffing as he undoubtedly prepares to unleash another argument.

“You guys want to date me?” Derek interrupts, fingers squeezing Scott’s without permission.

“Duh.” Scott and Stiles reply unison, faces lighting up in nearly identical smiles as Derek looks between them.

“Well, if _you_ want to, of course.” Scott adds softly, like he’s worried Derek doesn’t _want_ them. “And like, we want to take you on real dates and stuff.”

“Tonight was going to be our first date,” Stiles continues. “We were going to ask you in the locker room but you decided to just get _naked_ right there, and dude, your ass is fucking distracting.” Derek’s cheeks heat back up again but he’s pleased, stomach flipping on itself as he thinks about Scott and Stiles _checking him out_. “God the things I would do to that ass.” Stiles mutters under his breath.

“ _Stiles_ ,” Scott groans, reaching around Derek to smack him lightly upside the back of the head. “You’re gonna-”

“Okay.” Derek interrupts again, swallowing hard when they both freeze and stare at him. “I want, I want that, too.” His pulse races in his ears, blood pounding through his veins, roaring with anticipation. Scott’s face breaks into one of his sunshiny smiles, and a tension he hadn’t realized was there seems to ease out of Stiles’ shoulders, all his lines loosening, softening. “I’ve kind of,” he pauses, swallowing hard. He _needs_ to tell them this, he _wants_ to be honest. “I’ve kind of had a crush on both of you for like, two years now…”

Stiles lets out a delighted sound, and suddenly there’s hands cupping his face, fingers curled around his jaw, slipping into his hair.

“I’m going to kiss you now,” Stiles says, breath washing hot against his mouth, the tip of his ski jump nose brushing against Derek’s.

“Okay,” Derek breathes, chest squeezing when Stiles smiles softly. Derek always imagined kissing Stiles would come on the tail end of an argument, that it would be full of desperation with an undercurrent of aggression. This kiss is hesitant, like underneath his harsh exterior Stiles is afraid Derek won’t want him, that he’s going to push him away. So Derek fists his free hand in the front of Stiles’ sweat shirt and pulls him closer, tilting his head just enough so their lips slot together. Stiles moans quietly, the kiss suddenly open mouthed and hot, their tongues still hesitantly sliding against each other.

Derek vaguely registers Scott untangling their fingers, and he starts to panic until he feels warm lips against his neck, soft but confident.

“My turn,” Scott whispers when Derek breaks the kiss with Stiles, using one finger to tilt Derek’s chin towards him. Scott’s mouth is warmer than Stiles’ and he tastes like strawberry ice cream instead of ketchup. Kissing Scott was supposed to be all soft and gentle, but this is almost desperate, teeth tugging on his lips and tongue, fingers curled hard around his biceps.

“God that’s hot,” Stiles groans when Derek whines against Scott’s lips, his head tilting back to let Scott suck bruises against his throat.

“You three do know you’re in the middle of a parking lot, right?”

Derek’s eyes snap open to find Lydia standing not four feet away, eyebrows raised and his backpack hanging off one shoulder. She’s trying not to smile though, he can see it in the curve of her cheeks and the crinkles of her eyes. “And while I fully agree that this is pretty hot, I’d really like to go home now.”

“Oh my god.” Derek groans, slapping a hand over his eyes. But Scott and Stiles both laugh and untangle themselves from Derek. They look wrecked, with swollen lips and tousled hair and slightly glazed eyes. Derek’s sure he doesn’t look much better, knows there’s probably a line of hickeys blooming on his throat. But _he_ did that to Scott and Stiles, and there’s pride and want and excitement curling in his chest. He might actually get to have this.

“I’ll text you later, okay?” Scott says quietly, leaning in and kissing Derek softly on the corner of his mouth. Stiles just winks, his kiss open mouthed and dirty. Derek knows he’s blushing as they walk away, hands linked easily between them, but he can’t bring himself to care.

“Ah, young love,” Lydia hums as she throws his backpack at him and stomps over to the passenger door.

“Shut up.” He snaps without any heat, unable to even _think_ about being grumpy right now. Scott _and_ Stiles like him. Scott and Stiles like _him_.

“Seriously though,” Lydia continues when he finally manages to get behind the wheel. “If you guys ever make a sex tape, you could probably make big money on it.”

“ _Oh my god_.”

“Just keep your faces out of it, it might be detrimental towards your goal to be a history teacher of you have a sex tape.”

“Stop.”

“I’d probably watch it.”

“I hate you.”

“You love me.” He can see her smirking at him out of the corner of his eye, radiating smugness. She’s definitely going to be taking credit for everything that happened tonight.

“Yeah, I do.” He admits softly, pleased when Lydia’s smirk turns into a genuine smile.

“It’s time to stop noticing things, and start _living_ them,” she says quietly, eyes wide and earnest. Derek just smiles. She’s definitely right about that. 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! You can find me on [tumblr](http://werewolvesandarows.tumblr.com).


End file.
